- xxxxxsometimes, when i'm not focusing, all the faces i see blur into one. her face is weathered, ages and ages of knowledge in one soul. she smiles at me, skin creased gently as she puts on a baby pink beanie on her bare face before disappearing, like she was never there at all. and then, i'm back to the present.
xxxxxup until i was eighteen, i helped my mother out in her barbershop. the shop itself was modest at best, and we lived above the shop. it started with simple jobs like handing her shears, spraying the customer's hair, and helping her swivel the chair around so the customer could see their cut from different angles.
xxxxxby the time i was ten, i could wash a customer's hair and then give them a colour and cut. i was popular amongst my friends for being able to help them dye their hair.
xxxxxover time, my mother's hands grew weary and wrinkled, her hands shaking as she cut long strips of hair. i would watch in agony from behind another person's head, unsure of how to help my mother anymore. she seemed to be unsure of some cuts (though they always looked beautiful) and needed breaks from her work often.
xxxxxthere was nothing stopping time from spinning on its eternal top with my mother. her hair once black and bold, faded into silver strands mixed with shades of grey. she never bothered to dye her hair to its natural hue, so neither do i. i felt helpless around my mother, watching her man the entire barbershop with little to no help sometimes. she would wake up at six to set up, and rest at nine, after the shop closed, and the majority of us kids were asleep in the shophouse.
xxxxxno one stopped her— no one could stop her. my siblings and i could only watch this lady we called "mama" slip further and further away from herself, until we were no longer sure who we spoke to daily. this robust woman i loved became silent, angry, unsure of who she was, as well.
xxxxxwe'd wake up in the morning hearing clanging pots and pans, an angered woman telling us delusional thoughts, but we could only watch as the oldest of us— deimos would scramble to her, and we'd wait as he calmed her down. my own mother, growing brittle and crazed. as i grew up, i felt scared of this woman. she had adopted me at two, but i still felt as if i never knew who she truly was.
xxxxxsome days when it was raining and unfit for business, we would all sit by the front of the barbershop where there was a floor-to-ceiling window. we'd watch raindrops fall from the sky and onto the glass, until there were no raindrops left to watch. the boys would bet tips from ostentatious ladies to see which would fall fastest sometimes, but i thought they were nature's blessings, and not to be thought of as money grabbers. some fell faster than others, some trickled down slowly before meeting other droplets before racing down to the bottom of the sill as if it had not struggled against gravity seconds before.
xxxxxsometimes the customers would notice her behaviour too. the fuzzy-brained thoughts and the forgetfulness of everything, sometimes it was the muttering that threw them off. did they feel safe with her hands holding their hair? i still ask myself that sometimes. they would ask her if she was alright, or if she needed a break. they'd look towards me, a silent question that would remain unanswered, for i, did not know myself. i now realise, she needed a break, or perhaps twenty-five of them.
xxxxxi was twelve when it happened, twelve when my life changed.
xxxxxthe woman in black had hair whiter than my mother's, a smile more pressed out than my mother's. she had hands like my mother's, but her's were more worn out, more shaken than my mother's. she did not book an appointment, and she came as she was.
xxxxxi felt as if i was looking into a mirror when i saw this woman's face, as if she knew what i meant when i had said moments before she entered that i "wanted new hair." (i must admit, i, myself, do not know what i meant when i'd said it, but my hair is now bright orange.) her eyes bore into mine as i asked her what style of haircut she wanted.
xxxxxshe laughed at me, her eyes crinkled into her skin. "i do not have much hair anymore, little one, it would be much easier if you would take a razor and cut it all off. maybe then, i shall be free."
xxxxxi nodded slowly, not understanding her words, but willing to comply nonetheless. "i want you, little one, to cut my hair off. all of it."
xxxxxshe sat down on the black leather seat, eyes softly gazing into the mirror. "this is the last time that i will see myself with hair on top of my head." she murmured in a thick accent, turning her head as she admired herself. her frail appearance seemed to sag a little, realising that she was never to be the same again. i stood behind her, watching as the lady's gaunt face turn determined. "my dear, you may start cutting."
xxxxxthe razor in my hand suddenly felt pounds too heavy for me to hold like a weight in my hand. there were a thousand things on my mind, but "i'm sorry for what i'm about to do to your hair," were the words i chose to speak.
xxxxxher hair fell like clouds onto the floor, wisps of goldish silver. the woman sat in silence, watching me with her brown eyes. her eyes seemed to know the serenity of life, not the evils or wrongdoings. it felt wrong to cut off her hair, these locks of permanence, something that made her human.
xxxxx"i'm sorry," i whispered again, the buzz of the razor carrying my words with me. she hummed content, but i didn't know why she was so content while i cut off the hairs off her head.
xxxxxtime seemed to slow as i shaved her head to the bone. she was not a chatty customer, she stared and stared at her head, her face vacant and without emotion. i felt insecure, unsure of who i was in the moment as i took away her hair. was i just another face she'd see? who was i to her? who truly am i at all?
xxxxxmy hands trembled as i applied oil to her head, watching as she looked at her head. "thank you, my dear. you've done a wonderful job today." she patted my hand, brittle bone stretched.
xxxxxshe paid the normal amount, a generous tip to me. what would i spend it on? candy? it all seemed so irrelevant now. the lady smiled at me, her once haggard face now alive again.
xxxxxshe turned to me, a pink beanie in her hand. "you've still much to see. do not waste your time, little one. make haste." she said, a small beam on her face as she turned around with the beanie on her head, seemingly freer than before. i stood still, puzzled by her words. did she mean that i was missing out, by spending my hours in the small barbershop? did she mean that i'd turn out to be like her mother?
xxxxxthat night, i dreamt of the lady in black. her pink beanie knit tight on her head as she sat on the porch of a house, eyes closed with a smile on her lips. she rocked back and forth, the breeze in the wind whispering through the air. she looked so peaceful. all of a sudden, the woman started morphing into the familiar figure of my mother, a melancholy feeling running through my bones.
xxxxxi grew up from then, now understanding the woman better. my mother grew up from then too, and she died, six years after from alzheimers. i miss her soul dearly, but change is inevitable. do not waste time mindlessly. make haste and learn from the past.
